


Light Up The Dark

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baker Jack, Bakery AU, Crime fic, Detective AU, Detective Bitty, Friends to Lovers, Hate Crime, Homophobia, M/M, Memory Loss, TBI, ex NHL Jack, past Jack/Kent, retired jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11149917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Detective Eric Bittle loves the cafe he goes to every morning, and more than that, he loves the gorgeous French-Canadian who runs it.  But things get complicated when Jack's home is vandalised, and he becomes the target of a hate-crime.





	Light Up The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to do another bakery AU (because is there enough of them in this fandom? No!) but I wanted to turn the trope, and have Jack be the baker for funsies. I also love a good crime!drama, so I threw in Detective Bitty and this fic was born.
> 
> Warnings for stalking, hate crime and homophobia mention, nothing in detail, nothing graphic. Also past car accident injury resulting in a leg amputation and traumatic brain injury (neither of them described in detail). All the same, if any of these things are triggering for you, take caution in this fic.
> 
> The detective portion of this is totally inaccurate. It's total crime-scene drama, so take all that with an entertainment grain of salt. It is in no way accurate of actual police work.
> 
> Shout out to my salty soul-mate Serra for listening to me ramble about this idea for like at least a full half hour <3

It wasn’t as though Jack disliked his life now. Thinking about who he was before school, before the coffee shop, before the accident, was like peering into someone else’s life. It helped the accident had robbed him of a chunk of memory—pieces of his childhood, pieces of work, friends, some family. He never lost his connection to his parents, he never lost the love of feeling ice under his blades, and he never lost the raging anxiety which lived quietly at the base of his spine most days.

He did lose Kent Parson—his only memories of him foggy, like static on TV. Kent filled in some of the gaps years later, when Jack asked, but he held back a lot. Jack knew about the over-dose, but remembered nothing leading up to it, the hows and the whys a mystery. His therapist said it might come back some day, but he was in no hurry to relive that darkness.

He once had asked Kent, “Are we still friends,” and Kent had only laughed, a little sad, a little envious perhaps.

“I want to say yes, to lie so we can start over. But no, Jack. We’re not.”

“Do you want to be?” was Jack’s second question.

“More than anything,” Kent answered.

Later Jack would understand that Kent was doing him a favour. Later, his father would sit with him on the sofa and say, “He spared you a lot of hurt. Because I don’t think, between the two of you, history is capable of anything but repeating itself.”

Jack also lost a leg, four inches above the knee. He’d been in a hit-and-run on the driver’s side, the door crushed into him. The driver was in a stolen car, ran off, and was never identified. It took nearly forty-five minutes to cut him out, he was told. He couldn’t remember a single second of it, and his memory after the accident was spotty.

It was a struggle after that, to decide what to do, to get through physical therapy, to find meds that helped his anxiety but didn’t fuck his memory any further than it was already fucked.

Eventually he settled on University. He managed his depression by making friends, by photography, and by following a recipe blog written by a southern person who guaranteed, “Pies that might just save your life.” It was a joke, mostly. Metaphorical. But as Jack kneaded and baked and created in his small kitchen, he wondered if maybe sometimes that tagline wasn’t literal.

Eventually Jack graduated, and got a grad degree, and moved on.

He left Canada for Rhode Island, he bought a little brownstone with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a deck with a jacuzzi, and he bought a little space where he opened up a bakery. Café L'Éclair. Not the most clever of names, but most Americans didn’t realise it.

He was comfortable and happy.

And three years after first opening his doors, his life was changed when a short man with blonde hair, wide brown eyes, and freckles strolled through his door, hopped up on a seat, and smiled at him. “I hear y’all have the best pies this side of the Mississippi,” he drawled. “Why don’t you show me what you got.”

He did, and by the end of the cherry pie, the man looked up at him with a smile and said, “Now this pie would rival that of my Moo Maw’s.”

Later, the man would come in again, and then again, usually for a cup of coffee to go, and a pastry.

Jack would learn his name was Detective Eric Bittle—he flashed his badge at Jack with a small grin, like he knew Jack would find it adorable—as he did with nearly everything Eric did. “The boys call me Bitty, for obvious reasons which I find stupid since I am normal sized and y’all are the giants,” he chirped, and Jack laughed. “But they mean it fondly.”

Jack would also learn that Bitty was one of the few gay members of law enforcement—at least one of the few ones working openly, and as scared as he’d been to come out, it had gone well for him. “They took it better than my dang family,” Bitty said, stabbing his fork into an apple crumble coffee cake. He looked up at Jack with sad, almost guilty eyes. “Sorry, it’s just my momma’s birthday comin’ up and things are tense between us right now.”

“How’s that?” Jack asked quietly as he leant over the counter to refill Bitty’s coffee.

“I think she never quite…accepted it, and I never really had a boyfriend, you know? Then I got one and I brought him home last year and they…” Bitty curled his hand tight round the fork, his knuckles going white. “Let’s just say it didn’t go real well.”

Jack felt disappointment rush through him, having a crush on Bitty for so long now, and clinging to a small spark of hope that maybe Bitty was coming in every day to see him because he…liked him. He tried for a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. Your boyfriend…was he hurt by it?”

“Well he isn’t anymore,” Bitty said with a sigh. “My boyfriend, that is. And yeah he was pretty hurt at the time. One of the reasons we split up, in the end, is because he wanted me to cut them off. Make a big statement about how I wasn’t going to let bigotry stand. I still feel bad about it, like a giant hypocrite. I wish it was so easy, to just cut’em off, you know? To say fuck you, I am who I am, and just walk away.”

“Family’s always complicated,” Jack said. “Cutting them off is like cutting off a limb, and I can tell you from experience that it’s excruciating and impossible to just get over.”

“You lost family, hon?” Bitty asked.

Jack couldn’t help a smile. “I lost a limb.” Jack reached down and thumped against his socket with his knuckles. “In an accident, just above the knee.”

Bitty’s cheeks went cherry red, and he glanced away from Jack. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh I don’t want to compare the two. It’s not…”

Bitty’s voice trailed off when Jack leant over the counter, his clasped hands so near Bitty’s knuckles if he moved even a hair, they’d be touching. Jack’s eyes were soft, but commanding in a way, as he captured Bitty’s gaze. “One is literal, one is metaphorical, but they’re the same.” Before Bitty could argue again, Jack smiled. “Sometimes, a limb gets injured. Sometimes the injury is infected, and it becomes toxic to the rest of the body, and the only choice is to cut it off. But the feeling remains—phantom pains, pins and needles of something that’s no longer there. There’s an entire history with that limb, and even though it’s gone, it can’t be erased.”

“Oh,” Bitty said quietly.

“Sometimes,” Jack said, and this time he pushed his hand forward so their knuckles brushed together, and Bitty gripped his coffee mug tighter. “Sometimes, the injured limb isn’t toxic. It hurts—it still causes pain, but there’s a chance to keep it. It might not ever feel the same, it might not ever function the way it used to, but it’s still worth saving, even if there are moments in your life where the pain causes resentment and exhaustion, and fantasies of just cutting it off and being done with it.” Jack was quiet for a moment. “Do you see what I mean.”

Bitty swallowed thickly, nodding. “My family aren’t…not all of them are toxic. But they don’t accept me much, either. My parents love me, lord I know they do. But they’ll always hope it’s…some sort of phase.”

Jack winced as he pulled back, and both men felt the loss of touch almost profoundly. “It’s never an easy decision to make, and no one should pressure you to do something like that. You made the right choice.”

Bitty smiled, relaxing just a fraction as he sat on the stool, a halo of sunlight from the front window lighting him up from behind. “Thanks, Jack.”

Jack chuckled lightly, and stepped back to grab a wet towel to wipe up coffee mess. “You’re welcome, Eric.”

And from that moment, they were truly friends.

*** 

When Jack found the note on his door that morning, he sighed, but it was nothing new. Even years after being out of the NHL, fans were still angry. They blamed his coming out for his injury, said it was a punishment from god or…other things he didn’t care to give attention to.

He lived a quiet life far away from the people he’d known, but the occasional angry one would find his café and run his mouth until Jack had him removed.

That morning, Jack stared at the ugly, scribbled writing on the small yellow post-it.

**Hell is for homos.**

He crumpled it in his fist and let it fall to his floor, promising himself he’d put it in the bin later. He shut the door, pushing the ugly feeling out of his stomach for the moment.

He didn’t think anything would come of it.

*** 

He wasn’t normally one for swearing on the job, though the stress of law enforcement often got to him. Not the work-load, or his co-workers. Usually it was the failure of technology. Like right then, in his car, with his laptop on the fritz and his radio buzzing in and out. He was able to catch the call, a robbery called in by…someone. He couldn’t catch the name. He managed to get the address, though, jotting it down in the notepad app on his phone since his laptop was refusing to boot up.

It meant he had no information from whatever had been logged by dispatch, but he wasn’t far off. He radioed in, telling dispatch he was on his way, hoping they at least had the better end of the deal.

There were two black and whites parked out front of one of the more luxury block of flats, and though robberies were common everywhere, they didn’t get a lot of calls here due to the heavy security presence. As Bitty climbed out of his car, he glanced over and saw the maroon monstrosity his partner, Detective Birkholtz, called a car, parked nearly up on the kerb.

Bitty rolled his eyes and headed in, flashing his badge to the doorman, and was directed to the staff lifts which would take him to the third floor where the robbed apartment sat.

The corridor was chaos. There were a couple of uniformed officers taking statements from a few neighbours, and normally this wouldn’t even be Bitty’s job. But he suspected the amount of money residents had here made procedure a little…different.

He dragged a hand through his hair as he nodded toward Nurse—one of the officers he saw most, then walked in through the open door. It was a fairly nice place, and it was only slightly ransacked. There was a space near the wall where the TV, now smashed on the floor, had rested. Books were flung from shelves, and a few tables turned, but from first glance, Bitty didn’t see anything missing.

He slid up to Birkholtz who looked like he was jotting something down on his phone, though it turned out he was finishing up a game of Bubble Witch. Bitty sighed. “Well?”

“Dunno why we were called in,” Adam said with a shrug, tucking his phone away. “I mean, the place was bashed up, but nothing’s missing.”

“Anyone home?” Bitty asked.

Adam shrugged. “Cleaning lady. Chow’s getting her statement now.” He nodded over to their newest rookie Detective who was scribbling away on a small notepad. “Owner’s been informed, on his way now I guess.”

Bitty frowned. It was such an atypical robbery—if he even wanted to call it that. They’d be able to verify if anything was missing after the owner returned and gave the place a look around. But apart from upended sofa cushions and a few battered items, it looked like not much had been done.

“Hey,” Chris said, tucking his pen behind his ear as he walked up.

“Hey rook,” Bitty said with a wink. “What’d you get?”

“Not much,” Chris replied with a shrug. “Cleaning lady arrived at around noon, said she was in the back bedroom changing the sheets when she heard someone pounding on the front door. She called the owner who told her to ignore it, said he’d been getting a lot of solicitors lately. But before she could hang up, the perp kicked in the front door. Owner told her to stay quiet, stay in the back room, and call the police. She could hear them ransacking the front room, and after she was on with dispatch, they opened the bedroom door, looked at her, and fled.”

“Did she get a good look at them?” Adam asked, digging into his pocket for his obnoxiously fruity gum.

Chris shrugged. “Non-descript white guy, brown hair, no noticeable features. Dressed in jeans and a brown t-shirt, no visible marks or tattoos. We’ll have her get with the sketch artist, but I don’t know that we’ll have a lot to go on. She only saw him for a second.”

“Security footage?” Bitty asked.

“Nurse is on that,” Chris said.

“Anything else out of the ordinary?” Bitty wondered as he dug into his pocket for his phone.

Chris shook his head, then said, “Well…I guess it’s not her normal cleaning day? She said she usually comes in Mondays and Wednesdays, but she was sick Wednesday, which was why she’s here today. Also the owner’s at his job the longest today, so the person might know him personally.”

“Or is aware of his schedule,” Bitty said. “If the owner’s been getting a lot of solicitors lately, they might not be solicitors at all. They might be trying to gauge his schedule to see when he’s home.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Adam said, “but good point. We had a string of robberies like that what…six months ago? Dudes pretending to be from the cable company?”

Bitty nodded. “Strange they didn’t really take anything though. I saw the broken TV and laptop in the living room.”

Chris hummed in agreement. “She said she didn’t notice anything missing, but we’ll find out when…”

There as a hush amongst the crowd, then the cleaning lady sobbing as a tall, very familiar man walked through the door. It all clicked into place, and Bitty suddenly became profoundly aware of every photo on the walls and shelves.

This was Jack Zimmermann’s apartment.

*** 

Bitty hung back as Jack comforted the cleaning lady, then spoke to Chris and then later Adam. Eventually Jack noticed Bitty was there, and the moment he could get free, he walked straight up to him. It was obvious Jack was stressed, nerves making his hands shake, and Bitty had to fight back the urge to drag him close and hug him.

“Well…this is not how I imagined getting to see the inside of your apartment for the first time,” Bitty said, then reddened.

Jack, for his part, let out a small peal of nervous laughter as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. Euh. Yeah. I um…”

“I’m really sorry, Jack, but I swear we’re going to work our hardest to find out who this was.” Bitty said, and finally reached out, squeezing Jack’s arm briefly. “I know Birkholtz and Chow just interviewed you, but is there anything you can think of? Anything out of the ordinary today that might give us some idea?”

Jack shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. “It…was a normal day. Got up, made breakfast, went to work. Everything there was normal—busy, but not unusually so.”

“Did you see if they took anything?” Bitty asked.

Jack started to shake his head, then his eyes went wide. “Wait.” He backed up, then started to scan the ground, and eventually reached down for a small, crumpled bit of yellow paper near the in. He unfolded it and showed Bitty.

Reading it, Bitty’s eyes went wide and his breath caught in his throat. “What…”

“I found that on my door this morning.” Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping, and all Bitty wanted to do was wrap him in a blanket and feed him pie. But he had a job to do. “I didn’t think anything of it. It’s…happened before.”

“Someone you know?” Bitty asked as he carefully motioned for the officer collecting evidence to take the note.

Jack shrugged. “Not personally, no. But euh…there were fans? Hockey fans? Who seemed to take it very personally that I came out as bisexual during my career. When the Habs won the cup, they weren’t…happy. They didn’t think a queer like me should be able to win a Stanley Cup. They…celebrated after my accident.” Jack’s hand absently rubbed against his prosthesis and Bitty felt rage boiling up in his gut. He breathed, shoving it down. It was not time to get personal.

“Have they ever come at your apartment? Place of business?”

“I’ve had a few protesters. I try and keep my address anonymous but the internet…” He trailed off with a shrug.

Bitty nodded and whipped out his notepad to jot it all down. “And how long before today? Has anyone come to your door?”

“You mean besides solicitors?”

Bitty chewed on his lip, then asked, “What type of solicitors were they?”

Jack laughed. “The usual sort. Religious types with tracts, people trying to sell knives, or cleaners, or hoovers.”

The religious tracts set Bitty on edge, but he’d never actually had a problem with those sorts of people before. They passed out their silly leaflets and left, nothing more than that. He made a note of it anyway.

“And is there anything missing?”

Jack shrugged. “Not that I can see but…” His eyes went wide. “Do you mind if I…?” He didn’t finish his sentence, instead rushing to the back room. He was gone several minutes, and when he returned, he was more pale than before, and his hands were shaking a little bit as he clutched a small, black square ring box which was laid open, and bare. “They took my ring.”

“Ring?” Bitty echoed.

“Stanley Cup ring. And a few of my pucks.”

“Hockey pucks,” Bitty said, writing furiously.

“My…my winning game puck from the Memorial Cup,” Jack said, his voice strangely tense and shaking. “A couple of my playoff pucks. And…and my first goal puck.”

“I’m sorry,” Bitty breathed.

“It’s not…” Jack shook his head. “After my accident, I couldn’t remember a lot. It’s called retrograde amnesia. Not…not everything, but large chunks of it. The pucks had notecards my father made for me. Like a story, because I couldn’t remember those games.”

Bitty deflated, swallowing thickly as he met Jack’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m…we’ll do everything we can to get this back. Clearly this wasn’t just an ordinary robbery.” He glanced round, watching crime scene officers collecting evidence, taking photos of the living room, the front door, the kitchen. He looked back at Jack who seemed lost, and exhausted. “Do you have somewhere you can stay?”

Jack looked at him, then shrugged. “Is my place a crime scene now? I can’t...stay here?”

Bitty couldn’t help a tiny laugh. “This isn’t TV, Jack. You can stay here, no one’s been murdered or anything. But…your door’s been compromised, which means lack of security, and frankly with no current leads on who might have done this—at least not until we get possible security footage—I would advise you to stay somewhere else. But it’s up to you, of course.”

Jack nodded, his face looking drawn and far-off. “Alright. I can…stay somewhere else.”

Nothing felt worse than telling Jack his apartment was no longer safe for him, and he bowed his head. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Jack licked his lips. “I don’t…I mean no, Bitty. Er…Detective Bittle…”

“Bitty’s fine, hun,” he said in a hurry.

Jack blushed, but smiled. “Bitty, then. You’ve done plenty. Maybe you can…still stop by tomorrow? For your usual?”

Bitty laughed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Just making sure,” Jack said. “Routine is important to me, and this is…a lot. So something to look forward to….”

Bitty nodded. “You can count on me, Jack.” He quickly dug into his pocket and handed Jack his card. “Here. I don’t care what time it is—if you need me, you call. Alright?”

Jack held the card like it was something fragile and precious, and he nodded, looking small and a little terrified and Bitty hated it. “Thanks, Bits.”

Bitty swallowed thickly, knowing full well being on this case was probably a terrible idea, but also knowing he’d never been so motivated to make sure a bad guy was caught.

*** 

Bitty expected Jack to be frightened, and maybe make a few false calls to him, or to dispatch. He didn’t expected to be stood outside of the café at three in the morning as photographers snapped photos of the slur painted across the glass, and the broken door. 

Several bricks were lying on the café floor from where they’d busted through the window, and Jack was off to the side, hugging his middle as he gave a dry, emotionless statement to the officer on duty.

Bitty dragged his hand through his hair, writing down what he saw, watching Jack out of the corner of his eye. When Jack was finished and crime scene had everything bagged, Bitty slid up to Jack and touched his arm. “Sweetheart…are you…”

Jack gave a bitter laugh. “I’m a lot of things, so the answer is probably yes.”

“I was going to ask if you were okay,” Bitty said, “but it seemed a little stupid.”

Jack snorted. “Well…I’ve been better. But I’ve also been worse, so that’s something, right?”

Bitty hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then blurted, “Do you want to come and stay with me?”

Jack blinked at him for a moment. “I…is that a good idea? Can I even do that?”

“Technically I’m off duty, so…yes. I mean, it’s not ideal, and if I get caught I’ll probably be pulled from your case. But frankly I’d rather get pulled and know you’re safe with me than send you into some unknown.”

Jack seemed startled by Bitty’s words, and he was hesitant. “I’m not…I don’t want to impose or threaten your job or…”

“My job is fine, Jack, and we’re friends. We were friends before the case, and right now letting you go to some unsecure hotel isn’t making me feel real good.” Bitty licked his lips, then glanced up at Jack who looked exhausted and shaky. “Please. We can work out details in the morning.”

Jack looked too tired to argue, and he flopped his arms to the sides as he said, “Sure, yeah. I…why not.”

Bitty gave a stiff nod, and when Jack was released, they climbed into his car and made the drive home. Bitty made a note in his phone to fill out the report the next day, and let his boss know about the potential conflict of interest with Jack. But for now, that wasn’t important.

“I don’t have a spare room,” Bitty started as he unlocked the door to let Jack into his small space.

Jack shook his head, not really looking round as he toed off his shoes and tucked them by the door. “Couch is fine, really.”

“Oh no you don’t, mister. You’re taking the bed.” Bitty seized Jack’s hand and tugged him down the hall. His bed was a mess from where he’d flew out of it after getting the vandalism call—his pyjamas still discarded on the floor and Bun lying across his pillow. For a moment he was embarrassed, but then he pushed Jack toward the bed. “Git. You get in there right now, and we can talk in the morning.”

He said nothing as Jack sat on the edge of the bed, carefully rolling up the leg of his own sweats, and removed his leg. He rested it against Bitty’s nightstand as his hand absently massaged his stump. “Will you really be okay on the couch?”

Bitty laughed. “I spend half my nights there doin’ work anyway, hon. You just don’t fret about it at all. Get under those covers and get comfy.”

Jack yawned, not really able to do much but obey, and he smiled when Bitty tucked the duvet around him, and pushed Senor Bun into his hands. “What’s this?”

“This is Senor Bun. His job was to keep me safe from all the monsters under the bed when I was little,” Bitty said, and hesitated before brushing a bit of fringe from Jack’s forehead. He wondered if he wasn’t getting too familiar, but Jack didn’t seem to be bothered. He snuggled further into the covers and his eyes were heavy-lidded. “When I learnt the monsters had moved from under the bed, and into the real world,” Bitty said, quiet and soft, “he was there to give me hugs when I came back from being kicked round by them. And I think he’ll do wonders for you tonight.”

Jack’s mouth worked, but then he just yawned and said, “Thanks, Bits.”

Bitty’s heart fluttered at the endearment, then flicked off the light and went to the spare linen cupboard for a pillow and blanket. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep much after the night, but at the very least, he could lay his head down and rest.

*** 

For a moment, Jack was confused. He woke with the sun blaring through a window, and he was surrounded by unfamiliar sights and smells. It took him a while to recall the night before—the call from the alarm company, rushing down to the café only to find the place bashed in, and the ugly slur painted across the front.

It had been instinct to call emergency services, then Bitty, though guilt ate away at him after he’d woken the detective. But his shock quickly eclipsed anything else he was feeling, and he didn’t really come to until he was suddenly in Bitty’s apartment, crawling into his bed, falling asleep surrounded by the smell of him.

Rubbing his face, Jack pushed up from the bed, his body aching from the stress of the robbery, and the vandalism. The café would be closed until the repairs could be made, and the logic side of his brain began to detail out all the things he needed to do. Call the insurance company to file a claim, install more security features—cameras at the very least, and maybe motions sensors. He would have to call his parents too—no doubt they heard about what was happening, and would be worried.

And then…

Then, he wasn’t entirely sure what. He couldn’t really keep staying here, but his apartment was still trashed, and the only thing blocking out anyone was a heavy piece of plywood nailed to the front door. He had friends—co-workers who would also need to be addressed today, and he wasn’t alone.

But he definitely felt like it.

Dragging his hands down his face, he pressed them to the mattress and stretched his back. His thigh was aching, and he massaged gently down from his hip, to the end of his stump which was twinging with nerve pain. It wouldn’t be enough to keep him off his feet, but he knew it was going to be a long day. There was a dull, throbbing headache at the base of his neck which had the promise of becoming a full-fledged migraine.

The only saving grace was the sudden smell of cinnamon and coffee, which he noticed just after slipping his leg on and standing up. He adjusted his sweats low on his hips, then dragged his t-shirt over his head and made a mental note to stop by his hotel for a change of clothes before…well…whatever he had to do today.

He wasn’t even sure yet.

Pushing the door open, Jack carefully made his way to the kitchen, and couldn’t help a smile as he saw Bitty at the counter, pulling cinnamon rolls from the oven, swaying his hips to the beat of music blaring out of his earbuds. He startled when he turned and saw Jack, but the shock melted into a grin as he popped the headphones out.

“Mornin’. I was just going to wake you in a few. Are you hungry?”

Jack wasn’t entirely sure. The stress had his stomach in knots, but he knew food was a good idea. He had to take his meds when he got to the hotel, and he couldn’t do that on an empty stomach. “Coffee?” he asked.

Bitty reached into the cabinet and pulled out an over-sized mug, filling it from the pot near the fridge. “Cream and sugar’s on the table, and I’ll just plate these up. I have fruit, too. Oatmeal if you want to be gross and healthy or…”

“These are fine,” Jack said with a small smile as he took the coffee and sat down. Bitty arrived with the bowl of mixed fruit and the plated cinnamon rolls, and grabbed the chair directly next to Jack. “Did you sleep at all?”

Bitty snorted. “Not much, but that’s not unusual for me. I got my reports done, and talked to my boss about the conflict of interest.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that…are you…”

“It’s fine,” Bitty said. “I just can’t be primary on this case, and I’m not gonna put up a fight over that. I’d rather be here as your friend. Which reminds me…Jack is there anyone you should be talking to? Anyone who might also be a target. We can at least deduce from the…from the note and the graffiti, these attacks are a hate crime. So maybe…maybe an ex or…?”

Jack shook his head. “I didn’t date much. Um…and the thing is…” He sighed, staring at the dark coffee in his mug. “After my accident I…I lost a lot of memory. Huge chunks. I told you about that.”

Bitty nodded. “You did.”

“Well, years of my life were shaved off, and there might be…there might have been a relationship or two that I don’t remember.”

Bitty’s face fell in sympathy. “Would your parents know?”

“I could ask.” Then it hit him, and Jack felt like someone had sucker-punched him. “Kent,” he breathed.

Bitty blinked. “Kent.”

“He’s an ex. Sort of. He’s…we were in the Q together, he went first that year in the draft when I…” Jack stopped and breathed. “I lost a lot of memories of him, but we were…” Jack shrugged. “He wasn’t clear what we were, but it’s possible that this person knows about him too.”

“Do you still talk? Is there any way to get a message, see if he’s been targeted?”

Jack shrugged. “I can give it a try. I know I need to call my parents anyway, and…people from the shop. Let them know we’re handling things. But my phone…”

“I plugged it in for you last night,” Bitty said, gesturing at the corner of the living room where Jack’s phone was perched on the side table. He quickly plated up a cinnamon roll and pushed it over. “Go eat, make your calls. Then we can figure the rest out.”

“My meds,” Jack said. “I need…everything’s at my hotel.”

“Then I’ll get you there after you get some food and coffee in you,” Bitty urged.

Jack gave him a grateful smile, then took his things to the living room and sat on the edge of the sofa. There were six missed calls from his dad, and several texts from the guys at the shop. Jack quickly shot texts back, telling them he’d be in touch soon, and he had it handled.

Then, with a breath, he dialled up his father.

“Jack,” Bob breathed, and hesitated before carrying on in French, which was soothing to Jack’s nerves. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “I’m with a detective right now, I stayed with him last night. For…to keep safe. You’ve heard, I take it?”

“I got a call from some…detective Birkholtz?” Bob said. “Asking if we’d been contacted with any hate messages about you. Jack…what’s going on?”

With a heavy breath, Jack launched into the story. How he’d found the note, went to work, got the call from the housekeeper. Then after he’d gotten to the hotel, the second call saying the person had come after the café. When he was done, he swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what to do. It’s all…my head is so fuzzy and I can’t seem to do more than get from one moment to the next.”

“Your mother and I should come down,” Bob said in a rush.

“No,” Jack said, a little too rough. “Papa no. If…if you come down, all I’m going to do is worry this person will come after you. Let me…let me sort things, let the detectives work. And if it gets bad, I can fly up and stay with you until it blows over and the catch the person.”

There was a prolonged silence before Bob said, “You understand why your mother and I are worried about our only son, right?”

Jack couldn’t help a small laugh. “Of course. But the detectives here are nice and…”

“And is it the one who sees you at the café?” Bob questioned.

Jack flushed hard and glanced over at Bitty who was picking away at his breakfast while tapping on his phone. “Yes,” he admitted. “But it isn’t like that. Not at a time like this.”

“Of course not. I’m just glad he’s there for you,” Bob replied, secondary meaning dripping from his words.

Jack rolled his eyes, but smiled. “I’ll keep you posted, okay?”

“Alright. Daily. Several times a day, in fact,” Bob pressed.

“As often as I can,” Jack said, not willing to promise more than that. “I’ll talk to you later, papa.”

“I love you, Jack,” Bob said, and for the first time his voice didn’t sound strong. Jack hated it, and he pressed the phone harder to his ear, like maybe it would help him feel closer to his parents right then.

“I love you too. I’m fine, I promise.”

They rang off shortly after, and Jack finished off promising to have the boys meet up at his hotel that evening when things were sorted. With that finished, he managed to get down half the cinnamon roll, and most of the coffee, and rose to put his dishes in the sink.

By then, Bitty was tidying up, and turned to smile at Jack. “Alright?”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah. I mean…” He let out a quiet _hah_ and shrugged. “No? But considering the circumstances I think I’m handling it alright.”

“More than,” Bitty said, putting his hands on his hips. Jack found the sight endearing, a traitorous part of his brain briefly thinking, ‘what if I had this all the time.’ His crush on Bitty was growing and he wasn’t sure if it was from trauma, or from actually developing deeper feelings. He didn’t want to suffer hero worship from trauma. “Now, how do we get you sorted?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I ah. Well. I need to get back to the hotel. I left my car near the café last night, so if you could drive me there…”

“Will you think I’m being a helicopter-detective if I tell you I’d rather drive you until we’re sure you’re not being stalked?”

Jack’s eyes widened a little. “You think…” He trailed off. “I mean, wouldn’t being with me make you a target?”

“I don’t think we’re dealing with some Hollywood blockbuster level criminal,” Bitty said with a shrug. “A disgruntled, homophobic ex fan or something like it, considering they’ve stolen Hockey memorabilia. It means they’re willing to do damage, and potentially hurt you. But I don’t think I’m in any particular danger.”

Jack worried, but he had to remember Bitty was a detective and knew what he was doing. “Alright,” he said slowly. “So I should…keep staying with you?”

“Let’s play it by ear,” Bitty said. “I’m off-duty today so I can take you where you want to go. If the threat escalates, we can get the department involved, get you some protection. For now, let’s just say you’ve got a good friend who is highly trained.”

Jack laughed, but it wasn’t mocking, and from Bitty’s return smile, the detective knew it. “Alright. So hotel first, and then we go from there.”

*** 

Bitty knew he was playing with fire a little bit. He’d been pining for Jack for ages, and he knew part of that was fuelling his decision to keep Jack close—not because he didn’t trust Jack to take care of himself, but because his feelings made him worry all the more. Which was why he never mixed work with personal life.

Unfortunately the Universe decided for him, this time.

Jack was staying at a posh resort near the edge of town, a large suite which was untouched apart from house-keeping having sorted the linens and brought fresh towels. But Jack was visibly relieved to find his things in-tact. He moved to the little kitchenette to take his medication, three pills, Bitty noted, and then he leant on the counter.

“Maybe I should…try and get a hold of Kent,” Jack said. “Just see if he’s been harassed, though not sure anything will come of that. He’s still in the NHL and believe me the harassment is daily.”

Bitty scowled. “That’s…awful, really. But it might be worth checking into.”

Jack nodded, and he looked nervous, hands shaking a little as he pulled out his phone to dial. Bitty kept to the other room, trying not to pay attention, but it was impossible not to hear Jack’s side of the conversation.

His voice was low as he explained everything, and he went silent a while after telling Parson what the person had taken. “Yeah…yeah I’m…there’s someone here with me now. No, Kent, I’m not taking unnecessary risks. I’m not staying at mine I’m…mmhmm. Yeah well I’m sure there’s photos up. There was a goddamn giant slur painted across the café door. Everything goes viral these days. I…yes my…yes.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Well if you notice anything strange or mentioning me…like apart from the usual just…text me or call. Yeah. I will. You too, bye.”

As he rang off, Bitty leant forward over his knees, his hands hanging between them. “Everything okay?”

Jack walked over and sank into the chair near Bitty. “Talking to him is…” Jack licked his lips. “I don’t know how much was between us. I can’t…I can’t remember, but I suspect whatever it was, it wasn’t casual, and it wasn’t good. He doesn’t want me to know and I don’t want to keep asking.” Jack leant his head back and closed his eyes. “All of this might make sense if I could remember. I feel like whoever this is, they’re taking advantage of the fact that my memory is Swiss cheese. I might have known them. I might have dated them.”

“Well listen,” Bitty said, trying for soothing and authoritative as that always seemed to work with frightened victims, “we have security footage coming up. Forensics has got that, and they’re getting time-stamps and everything. Your building has a lot of security. We’ve got an eye-witness, and we’ve got prints. We’ve got your ring—which means if they try and sell it, we’ll immediately get a lock on it. And you’re not going to get hurt.”

Jack opened his eyes, Bitty enraptured by the sad blues, and he sighed. “I feel unsafe. They got into my house, they busted up my café.” He let out a small laugh. “I felt like this after the accident. Before chunks of memory came back. I…knew things, small things. But I was not only adjusting to life without my leg, but also trying to piece together who I was and where I’d come from. Everything leading up to that moment, everything that made me _me_ was suddenly ripped away and I was flailing. If it wasn’t for that blog, for the baking and everything, I’m not sure I would have gotten through it.”

Bitty felt something rush through him. “Blog?”

Jack flushed and he gave a sheepish laugh. “There was a blog online, someone in University. They used to put up easy-to-bake pies that were guaranteed to save a life, something like that.” He shook his head, not meeting Bitty’s eyes. “They stopped updating years ago, but at the time it was active, and it worked. It was one of my coping mechanisms. And crisse, it sounds so stupid now but, at the time it really did feel like it saved my life.”

“That isn’t stupid,” Bitty said, trying to keep his voice steady because…because that was his blog. That was…that was his. He was almost knocked breathless by the idea that Jack Zimmermann had found his blog, had used it, had been inspired by it to open his café. And it was no wonder Jack’s cherry pie tasted like moomaw’s. Because…it was her pie.

He swallowed the revelation down. Whatever it meant, whatever it was supposed to mean, he couldn’t focus on it now. They had a mystery to solve, and Bitty was determined to make Jack feel safe again.

*** 

While Jack’s co-workers came over to the hotel, Bitty made himself scarce at the hotel bar where he phoned Adam to get any updates.

“I think we got an ID on the guy,” Adam said. “Uh…Chad Willis. He used to work in PR for the Habs like a decade ago, but he got fired, and we’re trying to get the HR records for the termination. But the housekeeper’s description matches the guy we have on film, and we got a plate on a car—rental, but it was registered to him. He’s not the most clever criminal.”

“How dangerous do you think he is?” Bitty asked. “And is he American. If he’s Canadian, this might pose another host of problems.”

“Nah, he was on a working VISA and when he was let go from the Habs, that expired and he moved to Seattle. He briefly worked for the Schooners, but he quit after a few weeks. He doesn’t have much. A drink driving citation about ten years ago—that one in Canada. Then a couple of drunken disorderlies in Seattle, but nothing that would peg him as dangerous.”

“That…that drink driving citation,” Bitty said, something in his brain working, trying to piece things together. “What…what does the file say on that?”

“Well it’s old and there’s really not a lot on here,” Adam said slowly, the sound of pages in a file turning. “But…it looks like he was in a stolen car he claimed he thought was his. He was bashed up like he’d been in an accident, but the car he was in was fine, and he claimed he didn’t remember how he got the cuts to his arm and face.” Adam hummed as he kept reading. “His blood alcohol level wasn’t high enough for black-out drunk, the officer’s report says, but because he was claiming memory loss, they brought him in and charged him. He was released, paid fines, served his probation and was let go.”

Bitty’s face was cold, and the sensation was spreading to his limbs. “Canada. Like…Montreal? Can you give me the date on that?”

“Sure,” Adam said. “But…can I ask why?”

“You can in a minute,” Bitty said. “I’m…I think I’m on to something but I need the date.”

“Tenth of October, Twenty-fifteen.”

“Alright,” Bitty said slowly. “I’ll get back to you in about ten.” He rang off without ceremony, then opened up his internet app and typed into the search, **Jack Zimmermann Car Accident**

It took seconds to pull up several articles, most written by sport websites, and Bitty clicked on the first one.

_October tenth changed Jack Zimmermann’s life and career forever. The night he decided to go for a drive, was the night the only thing Jack Zimmermann had ever done, was ripped away from him._

Bitty swallowed against the lump in his throat.

It wasn’t a guarantee. It could have been a coincidence, but he didn’t think so. The man now trying to get to Jack, was the same man who ruined his career. And Bitty wasn’t sure how Jack was going to take it.

*** 

“Pie?” Bitty asked, walking into the living room with two plates of blueberry.

Jack smiled at him, taking the offered plate as Bitty settled into the corner of the sofa. It had been a long day, and after a small debate, it was decided Jack would go back with Bitty to his until they were able to apprehend the suspect.

“So,” Jack said as he poked his fork into the crust, “is he…I mean…does he have a history or…?”

Bitty’s cheeks pinked, and he took a few breaths. “He doesn’t have much to go on, but there’s enough circumstantial evidence to bring him in for an ID. With any luck we’ll be able to get a search warrant to see if he still has any of your missing items in his possession.”

Jack nodded, staring at the food, then dug his fork in and took a bite. After a second, his head snapped up. “You baked this?”

“Thought you were the only pie maker in this town?” Bitty chirped.

Jack’s blush spread across his cheeks. “I just…you never said.”

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder,” Bitty replied with a small laugh, the weight of his secret, of what he knew, heavy behind his ribs. “And really it’s just a hobby these days. I used to do it a lot more when I was in college.”

Jack hummed. “I understand that.”

“Yeah,” Bitty breathed. “Actually um. I…” He hesitated, but he was already keeping enough from Jack, and he didn’t want to keep it from him any longer. “That blog you used to follow was mine.”

Jack stared at him. “I…”

“Georgia Peach,” Bitty said, and watched recognition flare across Jack’s face. “By Check, Please? That was me.”

“Did you…did you know the whole time? Crisse, have I been making a fool of myself since we met or…”

“Jack,” Bitty said, his voice hard enough to stop Jack’s anxiety spiral. “No. I didn’t know until earlier today. It makes sense. Your recipes always tasted so familiar and I…well hell, it feels even luckier than a coincidence that you baked like me. It feels like fate.”

Jack was silent a long time, then said, “So you’re not angry?”

Bitty’s eyes flew wide. “Why on earth? What would I have to be angry about?”

“That I used your recipes, that I profit off them and…”

Bitty reached over, touching Jack’s knee, and he went quiet. “Jack. You made them your own. You used them, worked on them, added your own touches. I mean…maple syrup and maple sugar…I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

Jack laughed a bit and leant a little closer to Bitty. “Sometimes the pies just…felt like they were lacking. Not that they weren’t good but…”

“They weren’t your own,” Bitty finished for him. “Then they were.”

Jack shrugged. “Something like that.”

“So it’s good. I’m flattered, and amazed that we met and became…friends.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m glad I got to experience it. And you.”

Jack ducked his head, then said, “I feel a little keyed up. Can we stay up a while? Watch some TV or something?”

“Of course,” Bitty said. He dashed off for a duvet, and he came back to find Jack in a fresh pair of sweats, his leg off and against the side table. He was edged along the arm of the sofa, and Bitty moved in close to him. “This alright?”

“Yes,” Jack said very softly, and let his arm fall round Bitty as they nestled under the duvet.

Bitty’s hand flailed a little, and when it landed on Jack’s stump, he pulled it back. “Sorry. Lord…that doesn’t hurt or anything, does it?”

Jack chuckled and gently eased Bitty’s hand back. “Not at all. This feels…nice. Comforting. I hope it’s alright.”

Bitty nodded, not trusting himself to speak straight away. He stared at the TV, the dark screen still off, neither one of them making a move to change that. “Are you still angry about the accident?”

After a minute, Jack shrugged and moved a little closer, tucked Bitty against him a fraction tighter. “Sometimes. On bad days, when my leg is aching and even the pills can’t stop the nerve pain, and when there’s something I’m trying to remember on the tip of my tongue and I just can’t reach it. And sometimes when I see photos of a time or place I can’t recall. But mostly no. I’m happy, I love my café, I love my friends.”

Bitty’s eyes fluttered shut for a second. “Even with all this…madness goin’ on?”

Jack sighed. “I could do without it, of course. But, I’m here with you, eh? Hard to complain about that.” Jack hesitated, then bravely, daringly, reached out and slotted his fingers between Bitty’s, his palm resting against the top of Bitty’s hand. He kept his grip light, giving Bitty a chance to pull away. “This is good, right?”

Bitty swallowed thickly then nodded. “I’ve wanted to…I’ve liked you for a while now. Um. It just never seemed…I mean you were at work, and I didn’t think a guy like you would go for a guy like me?”

“What…does that mean?” Jack asked.

Bitty shrugged. “Well, you’re tall and fit, beautiful, and so smart and so sweet, and I’m just this hot mess who…”

“Who is also brave,” Jack said, and lifted his hand to brush along the soft, shorn hair near Bitty’s ear. “Also beautiful—the most beautiful man I’ve seen, maybe ever. And you’re smart, one of the smartest detectives on the force, and you charmed me the moment you walked into my shop and asked for pie.”

Bitty was all-but burning with blush and desire to turn his head and kiss Jack. But it was not the time, not with everything he was holding on to. “I’d like to see where this goes. When all this is over, and if you still want to, I’d…like to maybe have dinner sometime.”

“I like dinner,” Jack said with a sweet grin, and Bitty felt his eyes roll a little as Jack laughed. “I’d like it more with you, on a date.”

“If you still want,” Bitty insisted, “after all this is done.”

Jack went a little tense, and he twisted to look at Bitty properly. “Do you…know something?”

Bitty scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. “I think so. It’s a hunch, and I’m going to follow up on it, but I can’t…it would be better if I don’t say just yet, not until I’m sure. Because I feel like it’ll only make things worse, and I don’t want to do that to you, Jack. Do you trust me?”

“That’s not even a question,” Jack said, and pulled Bitty close again. “Whatever you need to do, I trust you.”

Bitty wished that none of this would hurt Jack. That he could flip a switch, and make it all go away. But he didn’t have that power, so the most he could do was hold Jack a little closer, and hope he could provide a comfort he wasn’t even sure would matter, in the end.

*** 

They apprehended Chad Willis at two-forty-five in the morning, as Jack and Bitty slept in each other’s arms on the sofa. Bitty got the call to come down to the station, and extracted himself from the embrace, pressing a kiss to the centre of Jack’s forehead.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered to the sleepy baker. “Please get more sleep, okay?”

Jack nodded, murmuring something and sinking into the blankets. Bitty watched for a few more minutes, then quickly dressed and headed out.

The entire thing was mostly anti-climactic. They found Jack’s Stanley Cup ring along with the hockey pucks in the trunk of his car. They found a notebook detailing out Jack’s day-to-day activities, and short-hand plots to attack Jack further.

Chad said nothing, no confession, but it was enough evidence to book him.

Bitty sat across from him for a long while in the interrogation room, watching. Then he leant forward. “You don’t have to confess. Even if you do, it isn’t going to matter much. We have all the evidence we need.”

Chad’s jaw tightened. “You’re here on his behalf. Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“I’m here because I’m a detective on a case,” Bitty said mildly.

“And you’ll go home and fuck him. It was a matter of time. I’ve been watching him for months, watching how he fell in love with you. I was hoping to stop him before his perverse affliction affected anyone else, but I guess you were already…”

“Queer?” Bitty said, his voice still dry, still without much inflection. “Fraid I hopped the gay train long before I met Jack Zimmermann and his glorious ass.” He smiled when Chad flinched. “And whatever we get up to, you won’t have the pleasure of watching, since you’ll be serving your time.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “I also know what you did, ten years ago.”

Chad’s jaw went even tighter. “I don’t know what you…”

“How you hit Jack’s car. How you tried to kill him then, and it didn’t work, and then you were caught in someone else’s car. You didn’t want them to put two and two together, not when it came to hockey star Jack Zimmermann, so you went quiet. For a decade. Because maybe he remembered the face of the man driving the car. Maybe he remembered you from when you worked with him on the Habs. But ten years later, when he didn’t get better, it was time to make your move.”

“You…there’s no proof…” Chad spluttered.

“I don’t need it. I’m not going to pursue it myself. I’ll tell Jack, of course. That’s not something I’m going to keep from him, and he can do what he wants with the information. I’m willing to bet it’s nothing. Because he doesn’t think of you anymore. He thinks of being happy.”

“So why…”

“Tell you this?” Bitty asked, and leant over the table, smiling. “Because we know. We’ll always know, and this time neither one of us is going to forget your face. So when your time is served and you’re released, just know we know who you are.” Bitty sat back again, and smiled. “The thing is, Mr Willis, he is happy. Maybe he’s still angry, but he’s happy. And if you hadn’t hit him that night, he never would have started baking, he never would have gone to college, and moved here, and met me.” Bitty rose, and leant over the table again. “And before you ask why that really matters, I’ll tell you. For all that you hate him for what he is—bisexual, queer, whatever derogatory term you call us in your head—you are directly responsible for him meeting me, and finally being happy.”

Bitty backed up, then walked toward the door, but stopped a foot away, and turned back to Chad who was pink in the cheeks, and eyes wide.

“Because let me tell you, Mr Willis…I sure as hell plan to marry that man some day.”

*** 

Chad Willis was sentenced to twelve years. Bitty immediately told Jack about the accident, confessed he had no proof, but Jack didn’t want any.

“I want to move on from it,” Jack whispered against Bitty’s neck as he held him in bed. “Him serving more time isn’t going to bring my memory back, or give me my leg again. He has to live with what he’s done, and he’s…he’s not going to hurt anyone again. It’s over.”

Bitty hummed, not ready to feel like Chad was going to be reformed in prison, but grateful they had a dozen years before they’d have to worry again.

They also had a first date they’d been on, and then a second. Then a kiss on Jack’s stoop in front of his new door which led to a night in Bitty’s bed, and a kiss goodbye in front of Jack’s restored café. 

And now, six months later, they had this. Talk of moving in together, whispered love in the dark as their mouths moved together, and their hands sought each other out to bring comfort and pleasure, and a hundred other things that made up who they were.

There was fear, sure, Jack’s lingering trauma of having been violated, attacked for who he was. But there was a future, too. Especially when Bitty leant over him late at night, and kissed him sweetly on the mouth, pushing into Jack’s hands which gripped his hips to guide their rhythm.

And it was fuelled by passion, but no less wanted when Bitty said, “I want to marry you. Jack…I love you so much, please…please…”

When they came down from their high, and curled together in the dim light of the deep evening, Jack pushed his nose into Bitty’s hair and nodded. “I want to marry you. If you…meant it.”

Bitty laughed, pulling away only to turn his face up and capture Jack in a slow kiss. “I’ve never meant anything more in my whole life.”

Jack smiled and held him close. “Remember a few months ago, when you asked if I was still angry about the accident?”

“Mmhmm,” Bitty said.

“Was that because…you suspected? About Chad?”

Bitty sighed, nodding against Jack’s chest. “Yes. I needed…I needed to know where you were at, so I could be prepared when I told you.”

“But you would have told me no matter what?” Jack sounded small, unsure, so Bitty tipped his head up and kissed the underside of Jack’s chin.

“I would have told you no matter what,” he confirmed.

Jack let out a sigh, some of the tension draining away, and he tucked Bitty in as close as he could manage, his limbs octopussing around his now-fiancé with the purpose of a man deeply in love. “Well, my answer changed.”

Bitty blinked against the dark. “How’s that now?”

“My answer, to the question you asked.” Jack let out a long breath, then smiled. “I’m not angry anymore. That path—as painful as it was—led me here. To you. And we’re going to get married one day, Bits. So it’s hard to find an ounce of regret. All that pain…turns out it was all worth it.”

Bitty’s smile was bright enough to light up the dark, and he kissed Jack again. “I love you, sweetpea.”

Jack smiled right back. “I love you too.”


End file.
